


We’re All Each Other Have Got

by McParrot



Category: The Last Ship (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: rounds of kink, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McParrot/pseuds/McParrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So you’re a maudlin drunk are you? Good to know.”</p>
<p>Prompt: Sometimes the walls close in on you, and sometimes the walls feel like they're the only thing keeping you safe.</p>
<p>Kink, Loss of control (emotional, physical, situational, erotic, etc)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We’re All Each Other Have Got

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentflux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflux/gifts).



> Early to mid Season 2. The Nathan James and her crew have been taking a battering and they’re playing hide and seek with the Immune’s submarine.
> 
> AN: I didn’t want a new fandom and I probably won’t write any more in this one, but I have really been blown away by this show. It is, I think, the most realistic apocalyptic story we’ve seen on TV for years. And thank goodness, it doesn’t have zombies. Plus I really like Eric Dane. ;) It also doesn’t have any realistic slash pairings and I think the only way these two could get together would be in exactly this sort of way for this sort of reason.

From a lawn chair above the beach, Tom watched as the final logs were being piled on the bonfire. He took a shuddering pull from the bottle in his hand. Most of the hundred people on the island, one third of his crew, were on the beach, either building the fire or finishing meals, cooked on grills right here on the beach. Some of the precious supply of beer was being shared around and everyone seemed pretty mellow, happy even.

He was pleased for them.

He grinned at the incongruous sight of his XO flipping burgers on the grill. Mike Slattery was wearing an apron emblazoned with the legend “Blondes Have More Fun.” Someone had found in one of the kitchens on the resort. He still wasn’t sure of the wisdom of having the both of them ashore at once, but knew he could be back on the ship in minutes if needed. It still didn’t help him relax any, although Mike didn’t seem bothered.

“Right,” he muttered. He needed to say his bit and get the hell off the beach before this rot gut hit his brain. He was well aware too, that Mike aside, the rest of the crew would never let their hair down with him present. He stood and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he started as the crowd quieted. “Welcome to Pirate’s Island.”

They’d found the island several months ago while searching for Dr Scott’s monkeys. It was a horseshoe shaped coral cay and other than noting that the bay was deep enough for the ship to enter, they hadn’t given it much attention. But since then the damn submarine had appeared on the scene, the Nathan James had taken a battering and they’d desperately needed somewhere to hole up and make repairs. This place was perfect. Anything anchored in this bay was hidden by the enclosing arms of the island from vessels even a mile off shore. The island was one of a tangled chain of cays and reefs and the chances of the Immunes, or anyone, knowing they were here was infinitely small.

Upon making anchor in the bay another advantage of the place became apparent. They hadn’t known when they decided to stop here but the island had been in use as a resort hotel. It was after all a perfect setting for it. It was a picture perfect tropical island paradise. A team had gone ashore searching for supplies and fresh water and discovered something marvellous. This wasn’t just a resort, it was a resort that had been packed down and moth balled, possibly at the start of the hurricane season a year ago – before the virus started to spread. It wasn’t like any other pre virus place they’d ever visited. There were no ghastly corpses, no rotting food in fridges and freezers. The rooms had been shuttered, everything packed away clean and tidy, if a trifle dusty. It was, the senior staff had quickly realised, the perfect place to let the crew have shore leave, provided, of course that it was properly managed.

“Crew of the Nathan James. Get ready to party.” Tom smiled at the expectant eyes looking up at him. “I’m just going to say a few words. Then I’m going to get out of your hair.” He laughed at the chorus of disappointment. They didn’t really want him here. “You have three days here to vacation, party, do whatever you want to do, but I just want to remind you that you are my crew and I do expect you to uphold the standards of the United States Navy. By all means, let your hair down. Eat, drink, be merry.” He considered reminding them that although he didn’t think they’d be disturbed, they may need to get back to the ship and manning battle stations at a moment’s notice. He didn’t want to ruin the holiday mood. In the end he settled for saying, “Please don’t trash the resort. You have two groups of your shipmates coming after you and they need the place to be standing.” The group laughed.

“Your crew mates, out there,” he pointed to the Nathan James at anchor in the bay, “the ring of sonar buoys we set before we came in here, they’re all keeping us safe.” The trouble was he didn’t feel safe. He didn’t feel safe anywhere, any time. He wondered if he ever would again. At least on the ship he had a little control. He wondered how many of the people on the beach felt like that too. Maybe he was a little more drunk than he’d thought.

“Don’t forget, take your turn at the chores so that the kitchen staff get a break as well. Enjoy your three days. Relax. Sleep in. And,” he held up his hand, “while I’m probably not going to be noticing if there’s a little fraternization going on,” he noticed a few stray looks between various crew members, “I’d like to point out that ‘No’ still means ‘No.’ Even here on a Caribbean paradise. Oh, and use protection.” He indicated back over his shoulder, up towards the fancy beach cottages that made up the resort rooms. “If anyone’s looking for me, and I do hope they’re not, I’ll be in my bunk.”

Tom grabbed his bottle and with his crew’s laughter warm in his ears made his way off the beach.

They hadn’t fired up the resort’s generators. As well as creating tell-tale lights it would waste far too much valuable diesel. Instead, each room had been supplied with a maglight and camp lantern. Tom hadn’t wanted it, but Kara Foster who’d done the room allocations had put him in the huge honeymoon suite. It was far too much space. His own cabin on the Nathan James was the largest personal space on the ship, ten times larger than an enlisted bunk. This suite was ten times bigger than that. He sighed, finding his lantern so as to be ready when it was fully dark. He’d thought he’d wanted off the ship, wanted space and to be able to stretch without his hands hitting the ceiling, only to find he was supremely uncomfortable, unable to relax in all this much space. Before the virus he would have said that the Nathan James, his commission, were his job, but more than that even. If anyone had asked, he’d have said they were his life.

He’d had no idea.

He took a swallow from his bottle, choking on the raw spirit, then sighing as the warmth spread from his belly, melting his spine. The noises of birds and small creatures, settling down for the night in the trees was unfamiliar, nothing to be afraid of, just unfamiliar. Everything felt vaguely wrong. He settled into a sun lounger in the grass in front of his room and stared up at the stars. At least they were the same.

The sound of approaching footsteps jerked him back into an awareness of his immediate surroundings. His XO was looming over him. “Good speech,” Slattery said. He pulled up the other sun lounger and sat down. “What are you doing up here on your own?”

Tom recognised sarcasm when he heard it. “I am getting drunk and maudlin and taking my sorry ass out of the way so not to wreck the party.” He thought about what he’d said as he took another drink. The nasty stuff was starting to taste okay. “I think I’m quite drunk already.” He waved the bottle at Mike. “You want some?”

Mike took it gingerly. “What is it?”

“Well the person who gave it to me said it was tequila, but… I’m going for fermented worm piss with a hint of cactus juice.”

“Ehhh.” Mike sniffed the bottle. “You’re not really selling it here.” He took a sip and gagged. “Oh.” He settled back on his lounger. “That is awful.” He sipped some more then handed it back. “So you’re a maudlin drunk are you? Good to know.”

“Why are you here?” Tom asked, the implied, ‘and not there,’ unspoken.

Mike leaned back on the lounger, the very picture of relaxation. “You were right. Getting darker and a couple of things that might be orgies are starting to happen on the beach. Groups of people laying out blankets in the grass. That sort of thing. Thought I’d best not be a part of it.”

“Yeah, well. It’s gonna be a long time before any of us can have shore leave, find a bar and pick someone up for the night.”

“I don’t disagree. I just…” Mike’s hands waved in the dim light. “I guess I just sort of thought, that our crew wouldn’t. I mean, most people have got partners, people on shore. Until we know they’re dead…”

Tom was not going to think of Darian. Especially not in terms of orgies. He knew she was dead but he still couldn’t go there. “Orgies are good as long as everyone respects the other parties,” he said quietly. He’d had big discussions with Doc Rios about it. They’d actually both come to agree, more or less. He had to admit, he’d never have thought such a statement would ever have come out of his mouth. “Everyone needs someone. Needs the relief and we’re all each other have got. But, you don’t want to get a particular attachment to anyone on the crew because that can make life really fucking hard.” He didn’t need to mention the awkward situation with Kara Foster and Danny Green. “This way is better, have sex with lots of people, spread the warm feelings, have a good time, don’t get attached.”

“You’re quite the philosopher there,” Mike said.

They sat in a pleasant silence, passing the bottle between them. As the sun went down mosquitos and biting things were starting to come out. Tom swatted where they landed on his bare legs and arms. “This is why I don’t come ashore very often. You don’t get goddam bugs out on the water.”

Mike stood up, motioned to the cabin behind them. “Maybe we should move inside?”

Tom shuddered, “Don’t like it in there. Too much space.”

Mike was standing with the light of the twilight sky behind him. Tom couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything but his silhouette, but was suddenly aware that it wasn’t dark enough that Mike couldn’t see him. He wondered how much he’d just given away. The Commander stayed still, staring, then held out his hand, offering Tom a hand up. “Come back to mine then.”

Tom discovered when he tried to stand up that yes, he was quite drunk. The island had once had manicured lawns and well kept tropical gardens. Now it had thigh high grass rapidly being encroached on by jungle. His legs were rubbery and the tangles caught his feet. After nearly face planting twice he accepted the arm that Mike offered him, gratefully leaning into his friend’s warm, solid body. He smelt of sea water and grilled meat. It felt good to touch another person when it wasn’t in anger. “No one is ever gonna touch me again,” he told the warm air. He was a bit surprised he’d let that slip out and profoundly grateful that Mike didn’t answer.

They staggered in through a door and into the darkness of a hostel building. It had either been staff quarters or maybe a cheap, backpackers accommodation option. Mike opened a door and ushered him into a dark space. Mike flicked on a maglight and they were in a cramped space, nearly completely taken up by a double bed. He nearly whimpered in relief. So he wasn’t the only one then.

This felt better. With no place else to go he fell across the bed. The bed lurched, doing a damn good impression of his bunk during high seas. He turned over slowly. “I am sooo drunk.”

Mike gave a snort and crashed onto the bed beside him. “You think.” He shoved and prodded until they were both lying, feet at the wrong end, but more or less properly on the bed. Well, there were no limbs hanging off. “I can touch you,” Mike said. “If you like.”

“What?”

“Let me give you a massage.”

His thought processes had turned to treacle but he couldn’t think of anything wrong with that idea, even though he felt there probably should be. “Okay.”

They took another drink each as they stripped Tom’s tee shirt off and rearranged themselves, Tom face down, Mike kneeling beside him. Then there was a cool splodge of something hitting his shoulder blades and he smelt sunscreen lotion. Warm hands were on his shoulders, fingers, thumbs maybe, working into his muscles. “Oh,” he moaned. “You’re good at this.”

“Took a course once. Back in High School. Thought it would make me popular with the chicks.”

Tom laughed. “Can just see you. Did it work?”

Mike snorted, pressing his weight into the muscles where Tom’s neck met his shoulders. “Not the best pick up line I ever used. ‘You looked stressed. Would you like a massage?’ Useful skill to have though. God it’s awkward like this. Do you mind?” Mike shifted his weight, threw a leg over and straddled Tom’s thighs. Now the pressure of his hands was even on Mike’s back, his body weight heavy, yet comforting, on his legs. Tom bit back something that might have been a sob. He hadn’t realised how much he had needed to be touched.

They fell silent then, Mike’s hands working slowly down his tense back, making his body feel so good. He melted into the bed as the stress he hadn’t even known he was holding was slowly massaged away. Then in the quiet darkness, as Mike’s hands worked lower he began to be aware of his body responding in another way. He didn’t want to stop this. It felt too good, was too much what he needed but… It had to be the alcohol. “Umm…” He did his level best to hold still as his now heavy cock wanted to rut into the bedclothes.

“What?” Mike asked. Those big hands didn’t stop, working into the nexus of nerves at the end of his spine and he realised with a shock that that was well below the level of his belt. He hadn’t even noticed Mike pulling down the waistband of his board shorts.

“I… Umm… I should probably be going?”

Mikes fingers moved wider and started digging into his glutes. Tom groaned as he felt the release, all down his legs. “Jesus.”

“It’s alright,” Mike said gently. “Let me take care of you.” His hands gentled and he asked tentatively, “Do you want something more?”

“Umm… I’m not…”

“Of course not.” One of Mike’s hands left his butt and moved around his hip. Automatically he lifted and let him slide his hand underneath, gasping when fingers, warm and slippery closed around his cock. “Let me,” Mike murmured again.

Tom couldn’t have stopped him if he’d tried. His body was completely out of his control and he needed it so bad. “That’s it,” Mike whispered, his breath warm in Tom’s ear. “Just let go. Enjoy yourself.” His hand moved faster, pumping in that primal rhythm that pulled heat into Tom’s core and shorted out his brain. He gave up and thrust into that tight fist that wasn’t his own. Mike moved his weight, let Tom move his hips, leaning forward taking his own weight on his elbows, body close but not restricting along Tom’s back. “Give it up Sailor. Get it out of your system. You’re safe with me.” He placed gentle kisses across Tom’s shoulders.

And he was, he felt safe, here, now, in this airless, cramped little room pressed up close to the only person left in the world who had a clue what it felt like to live his life, to be THE Captain, untouchable and untouched. He thrust into Mike’s hand, pressed back into the strangely arousing feel of another man’s cock rubbing against his ass and came in a wave of alcohol fumes and endorphins that stopped his breath and whited out the whole world.

 

Sometime in the night he woke, over heated and desperately sick. He stumbled from the bed, found the maglight by the expedient of stepping on it on the floor and managed to get himself outdoors in time to throw up in the bushes. The night air was cool and calming as he caught his breath. He made his way back inside. Mike blinked up from the bed bemused, then handed him a bottle of water, the side of his mouth curled up in a grin. “Okay?” Mike asked.

Tom drank gratefully. “Hung over as shit.”

“Yeah. Well. Boot leg tequila will do that to ya. Didn’t think you’d come back.”

“Oh.” It had never occurred to him not to. “Uhh. Move over.” He climbed back into the mess of bedding, curling around his XO. It wasn’t a large bed and they were both large men. If they were both sleeping in this bed then there was no choice but to get close. He let Mike shove him around until they were spooned, Mike’s large body wrapped around him, arm around across his chest. “It doesn’t mean anything,” Mike said.

Tom felt the other man’s body settle back into sleep. “You’re wrong,” he murmured quietly. “It means everything.”

 

 


End file.
